One of the most delicious ways to spend a summer afternoon is propping yourself down on a bench and people watching.

Am I wrong? It feels like the refreshingly unedited version of what we do on Instagram and Facebook every day. All of these individuals walking around sans filter or tongue-in-cheek caption; I’m witnessing behind-the-scenes footage here!

Social media encourages us to edit, edit, edit until all that’s left is a somewhat flat caricature of who we actually are. As a result, we’re more often exposed to and interact with the personas of those in our social networks than we are with the actual humans behind them.

What does that mean for people watching? Oh, baby. It feels indulgent. Because rather than seeing someone’s hyper-edited story online, we get a glimpse of the first draft instead.

Seeing people as they are feels like a privilege today. I live for seeing the familiar glances between two friends before they erupt into laughter; for the briefest moment of serenity sweep across an old woman’s face watching children play; and even for the somber moments, like a fleeting indignant eyebrow raise at a friend’s remark or the quickest roll of the eyes from a couple deciding on dinner.

Seeing people as they are feels like a privilege today.

Half the time, yes, I’m probably completely off base on my interpretations of situations. But, hey, I’ll craft a story from whatever I can get. And through this internal storytelling, I feel connected to the strangers around me. They’re no longer one dimensional characters smiling on patios and going for brunch. With every eye roll or unabashed laugh, I am reminded of the fact that every one of us has a universe full of thoughts, anxieties, dreams & memories all rattling away inside of our skulls. And that brings me some much needed comfort sometimes. It’s like, hey, remind yourself, we’re all figuring our shit out. Daily.

I’m not expecting anyone to put their whole story out there. Our first draft hardly suffices for ourselves; why would we risk sharing it with the world? But, paradoxically, I think there’s something deeply instinctual about wanting to risk it all, to share every last bit of ourselves with someone. Maybe anyone. Perhaps that’s what we’re trying to do through social media, but our nerves get the best of us. We ache to be seen, to let people in, but shy away from sharing the very qualities that make us, well, human.

There’s something incredibly lonely about the fact that no one can see the world the way you do. Sure, it’s beautiful. It’s life! But it’s also frightening. When we tell a story, though, we’re inviting others to see the world through our eyes. We’re saying, step inside my life for a moment. And, just like that, we’re no longer alone.

But, paradoxically, I think there’s something deeply instinctual about wanting to risk it all, to share every last bit of ourselves with someone.

I just think, most of the time, we’re inviting people into a story that isn’t real. The connection we crave, then, is misdirected towards a persona instead.

People watching, in all of its unedited glory, serves as a reminder that these personas only graze the surface of our humanity. Sitting on this bench, I am let backstage to the digital performances paraded about online, and I am reminded that we’re all participating in the same absurd reality. Because with every selfie I see being snapped, I also see the awkward, silly little creatures behind the camera who then promptly turn around to make six thousand chins to their friends.

Next up, some rooms I would like to make six thousand chins in and spend entire afternoons with my friends. (I am so good at segues.)

Jessie Websters Isn’t this light stop-you-in-your-tracks sumptuous?Jessie WebstersI would try to channel this woman’s elegant composure on a daily basis. Even if I was looking at her with sweatpants and crumbled eyeliner, I think I’d start to stand a little straighter.My Scandinavian HomeChanneling bohemian glamour & LA sophistication, this room demands gatherings with kombucha and fancy tacos.My Scandinavian HomeDo you see that shimmering candle sconce? Do you see it? I am baffled and in love. I also love the possibly intentionally dying tulips here. It’s almost as if they’re not dying, but rather participating in a very sensual dance move, dipping their necks to the ground as they bow to an invisible audience. Sexy tulips, I tell ya! (Haha)It would be difficult to be in a bad mood in this room. I like to imagine that all of this colour & sunlight would just crowd any bad vibes out of my heart through flash dances of positive emotion.One cannot be a couch potato on this sofa, but rather a couch zucchini. (Hyuk, hyuk hyuk!)Something about taking humble decor and letting it live within the grand bones of a 19th century home feels so right.

Confession of the day: I really enjoy watching makeup tutorials on YouTube. Next confession: I never actually do these tutorials. For me, it’s like watching a magic trick, a bewildering series of transformations. Cheekbones emerge from thin air; full, pouty, red lips adorn smiles; eyelids turn into a canvas of shimmery depth; their skin becomes a dewy, golden landscape.

I think it’s easy to think of these young ladies as airheads, publicizing their vanity for the world ten minutes at a time. But I, for one, am so humbled by them. They break down the idea that perfection greets certain people in the morning. They wipe their faces clean, exposing the blank canvas. Every single technique is voiced over in obsessive detail, letting virtually anyone follow along.

Even better, the “imperfections” in the before shots are called out for what they are: reality. For those struggling with acne, there are hoards of videos of young women showing their own skin’s turmoil to literally thousands of viewers. And as someone who hashad her fair share (well, it’s never fair, is it) of skin issues, I just think: if that’s not humbling, if that’s not courage, if that’s not something we should all bow down and raise our hands to in a time when the only faces you see are those that have been airbrushed or already guised in a thin (or excessively thick) layer of concealer, I don’t know what is.

So this led me to a cheesy albeit vital conclusion. Every blank canvas is different, but every blank canvas is beautiful. No matter what you do with your canvas, holy bejeezus, you’re beautiful. Whether makeup is a minimalist endeavour, or a full expedition across the seven seas, the face that awaits you on both sides is beautiful.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a mantra most of us are familiar with. Sure, we’ve heard it in magazines, and corny blog posts (*cough* yay me *cough*), but very few are blessed with toting around this message in their head all day. After all, how we feel about the canvas we’ve been given can change daily, or by the minute. Sometimes I look in the mirror with no makeup on and offer myself a proud salute, but other times I shrink back, or avoid meeting my eyes at all costs. But guess what? That happens with or without makeup. Makeup doesn’t solve self-esteem issues or confidence. In some ways, it can exacerbate low self-esteem.

One easy example is when you forgo eyeliner and someone swoops in and offers their “sympathies”: Wow, you look so tired today! Get much sleep? In fact, I had a beauty of nine hours, but I’ll go along with you anyway due to your genuinely pained expression and say, Oh, man, yeah, brutal night *fake yawn blended with the fakest of fake laughs*. In this case, makeup kind of sucks. But there are other times, perhaps when you applied a touch of creamy foundation with some blush, and someone says, Wow, your skin is looking radiant! And you proceed to bat your lashes and say aw shucks, the cloud beneath your footsteps remaining there all day. That’s kind of magic.

But here’s the thing. Makeup alone is not a magic trick. When you have nothing on, and someone says you look *cringe* “really tired”, a dose of confidence can rid that remark of condescension and you can instead look at it from a good humoured perspective. A joke between you, yourself, and your lack of makeup. On the other hand, if you receive a compliment for your radiant skin and low self-esteem snarls, It’s just because you have makeup on, that feeling of walking on cloud nine will likely dissipate.

Makeup doesn’t work magic on its own. Makeup works magic with you. In fact, it needs you. Because guess what? Makeup needs that beautiful face of yours to do any magic at all. Makeup can put a smile on your face, give you an extra kick in your step, or make you feel like you would be one of those people who didn’t look ridiculous doing a “sexy meow/growl.” That all feels a little magical. But when someone compliments you, they’re complimenting you, not your makeup. Bobbi Brown Foundation isn’t the subject here. You are. Bobbi Brown Foundation on its own is just a puddle of cream. You, though, you’re the masterpiece people want to see.

Now I know you’re probably tired of me jabbering on about how we’re all beautiful inside and out, with or without makeup (we all have to hear it!), but I thought this bad-ass painter, Alexa Meade, was kind of unreally perfect for what we’re talking about. Alexa takes real people as her canvas. Real people. She then picks up her magic paintbrushes and drapes them in colours, shadows, light, and texture so as to transform three dimensional humans and environments into two dimensional paintings.

The results are nothing short of holy shit.

So really, Alexa demonstrates the irony of our perception of art. Art evokes feelings, sensations, desires, and that unnamed sense of something novel stirring in our stomachs and chests. We look to art for a reaction, for a connection with something or someone beyond our grasp. Yet, aren’t we doing the same when we look to each other? Our interactions with someone are really with the image they have shaped of themselves over time, the image they feel comfortable with the world seeing.

When Alexa paints onto her human being canvases, we begin to look at them as the art projects they really are. The woman we crossed on the street is just a fleeting image of who she really is. Some of our perception of her is coloured by our own experiences, our own random mood at that moment, but some of our perception is shaped by the very way in which she has presented herself to us. And in a beautiful yet somewhat heartbreaking way, the humanity of Meade’s subjects, that truth lying open on the blank canvas beneath the layers of paint, is more exposed than ever before. Meade’s work demands a reevaluation of how we perceive others and, ultimately, how we judge others.

After all, isn’t everyone just a work-in-progress offering themselves to the world as though they’re a finished product?

Have any of you seen Wild? It takes Cheryl Strayed (and you, lucky thing) on a journey through the Pacific Crest Trail, encountering revelations at every turn. The best part, though, is that this journey isn’t just through the rained on, sunshined on trees of 27 national forests. And it doesn’t only take you into Cheryl’s sometimes scandalous, often heartbreaking, and perpetually challenging memories. You’re also guided, even pushed, to the crevices of your mind that flourish on doubt, breed jealousy, and infiltrate fear into your thoughts. Through Cheryl’s journey, you take a journey through your own mind as you face flickering questions and uncover answers.

I just read a fantastic (as per usual) piece over at Brain Pickings talking about a little something called motherfuckitude. It comes up in Cheryl’s latest book, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar. Before she wrote Wild and the world was seized by her wisdom all at once, she wrote for an advice column called The Rumpus under the name “Sugar”. Her advice, at the age of twenty-six, speaks to the awesomely wise and unbreakable spirit she has always had.

She never dismisses or deflects the true questions of those pleading for an answer. She digs her hands into the dirt of it. It’s as though she looks at the modest weed people present to her, as though this is all that is irking them or scaring them, and she digs into its roots, unapologetically and necessarily.

I need this book in my possession. I want to say it’s because I’m a twenty something (well, twenty-nothing at this point) who craves Cheryl’s answers to just about everything on a daily basis, intent on finding that glimmering cove in my own mind that points me to them. But it’s not just for twenty-somethings and twenty-nothings. It’s for thirty-somethings and eighty-nothings, and everyone in between and beyond. And it’s not about answers at all. It’s for anyone wanting direction. For anyone wanting renewed inspiration and sharpened humility. It’s for anyone who needs some “motherfuckeritude.”

But being a motherfucker, it’s a way of life, really… It’s about having strength rather than fragility, resilience, and faith, and nerve, and really leaning hard into work rather than worry and anxiety. – Cheryl Strayed

We all need some more motherfuckeritude in our life. Go read about it, and turn this Thursday into a motherfucking Thursday.

P.S. After reading this piece, you may experience a sugar high, a craving for even more sweet advice and wisdom. If so, head over to NPR and check out Dear Sugar Radio, which features the two “original Sugars”, Cheryl Strayed and Steve Almond, “[fielding] all your questions — no matter how deep or dark — and [offering] radical empathy in return.” (I gobble up this podcast at least once a week.)

If there are two things that can make any grey day into a day of unrequited peace, it’s a bubble bath and a nap/doze on a big, comfy bed. You just can’t go wrong with either.

Now some folks scoff at the idea of putting a tub in a bedroom, and I think it’s just because they think we’re ignoring the separation of bathrooms and bedrooms all together. No, no. That is not the case. All we are doing is taking your portal to escape reality in (aka the bath) into your bedroom. Who could have a problem with that? Suddenly you’re given so many more reminders to treat yourself on a daily basis.

And now that I think about, why the heck are we putting toilets next to baths anyway? Who came up with the idea of having a bath and a toilet squished into one room? Baths are meant for peaceful meditation. Toilets, on the other hand, cannot be made into anything escapist or peaceful. Let’s face it – they’re just pits of water that you do your business in.

Anyway, in preparation for my future dream house, I’ve found a variety of ways to mix a bath into your bedroom below, so here are a few spots that really have this dreamy, introspective, rolling-out-of-bed-into-a-tub vibe figured out.

assuming this leads into a bathtub type vibe below, regardless the loft is awesome

bathtubs play peek-a-boo, too!

Today, the city is covered in a thick blanket of ew-go-away fog. Sticking to that trend, I have another ew-go-away paper to tackle all day, too. At least my life’s consistent.

Rather than losing myself in the depths of New Girl episodes to shake off the bleh of today, I have a bath pouring with lavender salts and bubbles. I’m hoping to fire up my inner Ayn Rand today, so that I can emerge from the bath with a severely critical eye and the ability to write a lot of words on words on words.

To some, having a desk at the end of their bed might look like a pair of handcuffs. And I totally get that. We all want to wake up and pretend, just for a brief, glorious moment in time, that our lives really do just consist of solo coffee dates, lengthy bubble baths, and perhaps, if we’re feeling particularly motivated, matinee movies.

Yes, we’ve seen that gnome before… this week’s Wednesday Feast was teasing you and you didn’t even know it. 😉

It’s hard to put your finger on just where in the world his style is coming from. I see Spain, Morocco, France, Belgium, even the otherworldly (I’m looking at you, gnome boy). Yet everything comes together with such clarity. His galleries are a masterfully curated example of this, featuring each corner of the world all at the same time so that we witness one fantastical scene of cultural diversity.

Primack’s playfulness with proportions seems to come naturally to him, too. Where we might expect smaller accents of color, we see paintings, plants, and light fixtures dominating the scene, unabashedly testing our limits.

The result, of course, is an apartment that sacrifices our expectations for relentlessly eclectic fun. Sherlock-meets-Waldo kind of fun. And what’s more fun than that combo?

Hope everyone had a lovely Easter weekend! Does anyone have any family/solo traditions for celebration? I’m really curious because sometimes they’re straight up hilarious/ I would like to live vicariously through you. For the past three years, Easter has been something of a semi-sweet occasion for me. On the one hand, I have the whole house to myself as my roomies flee to their respective homes, and on the other, I just think about how awesome it would be to have my seat back at home, a huge chicken and mashed potatoes filling my plate as my eyes grow four times their normal size in anticipation of eating.

Happy wednesday, folks! If your week isn’t going the way you want it to, press the reset button. Wake up on the other side of the bed. Drink mint tea with lemon & honey instead of coffee. Dab on some red lips. Sprint for two blocks to feel like superwoman. Do a jig to your guilty pleasure on YouTube and then tackle the scariest thing on your to-do list, even if it’s just thinking about it.

Or, enjoy some mid-week inspiration with your wednesday feast.

*dezignnn*

Gnome, gnome, gnome, gnome, I repeat, gnome in the house

This space is so deliciously lived in. And I love that, because it’s so rare to see.

My instagram feed is stuffed with photos of perfectly curated lives. I trick myself into thinking that this is a reality, and, on some days, that’s nice! But on others, I need a dose of reality that looks more close to home.

I’m not saying this European sun-kissed bathroom looks anything like my reality (maybe it will one day), but it looks like an honest depiction of someone else’s. And that, my friends, is as soothing as that deep, sumptuous bath.

*fashunnn*

*podcast*

If you are ever in need of girlfriend chats on the way to class, work, coffee, breakfast, ballroom dancing, get on this podcast. I want to be friends with the hosts so bad – they are equal parts hilarious, witty, and feminist. Friend crushing hard.

“Multiple glasses of wine, chatting both confidence and thigh gaps plus menstruation in space. Where have you been all my life, Call Your Girlfriend?” –Holly Gordon (It’s true. The pilot episode features lotsa wine n’ giggles.)

*dessert*

Airbnb is the new food gawker. Okay, so, up front, not at all. But it is safe to say that airbnb is the foodgawker for interior design & travel. I recently found this Victorian gem in San Francisco and now fully plan on trying my hand at the aristocratic life (read: Downton Abbey life) some time.

*receipt treat*

This illustration brought to you by a mysterious Asian pinterest board-like platform that is only for drawings and illustrations like this! Oh what you can find on internet travels.

Some people might call Wednesday the mid-week slump. I call it the mid-week pick-me-up. By Wednesday, the weekend’s plans are filling themselves in (even if that looks like no plans whatsoever, which is a bonus), I only have two snooze buttons left, and I’m comfortably situated in whatever chaos the week holds.

But… it’s still Wednesday.

That’s why I’ve officially started Wednesday feasts. It’s a multi-course meal of inspiration to start your day off with a pick-me-up. You start off with five-ish delightful samples of interior design that are leaving me drooling (not on your plate, don’t worry), followed by two-ish slices of fashion and a podcast to feed your brain.

Then dessert! Which can be anything, but generally a taste of another blog around the internet. And let’s be honest, we always want more dessert, so just click on the blog to keep on indulging.

And of course, a treat receipt in the form of an illustration.

Bon appétit!

*dezignnn*

*fashunnnn*

*podcast*

NPR Invisibilia is the best. Alice and Lulu, quite simply, explore the invisible forces that shape our lives. Okay so perhaps not so simply but the way they deliver these podcasts is unlike any podcast out there – you feel like you’re right there, having a super deep but funny conversation with old friends.

So get ready for a dose of the existential.

I recommend The Power of Categories to get you started, which digs into the nature of categories and our absolute and utter dependence on them to navigate this world.

*dessert!*

The Socialite Family recently featured Charlotte & Hugo, a pair of lovers/interior architects/designers. Don’t their names alone already sound unfairly cool? But just wait until you start scrolling. Then tell me about unfair. I mean, just look at Charlotte reclining in that chair, so minx-like, and Hugo striking a pose so nonchalant you could’ve sworn you really did just interrupt them modeling.

Charlotte & Hugo’s home needs no introduction though. After all, this is the first home I’ve seen in a while that makes me want to inappropriately move in with a couple I don’t know just to be like, hey, I’m cool too. And I know I won’t be alone on that one.

The Socialite Family has a knack for tapping into the lives of the coolest families on the globe. Check out the crazy eclectic abode of Mathilde, Jerome, and their little cutie Charlotte here, as an easy example. (Although I think I’d be lying if I said these French names didn’t add a certain je-ne-sais-quoi to their home, too.)

master plan, details and dates, jaunts and journeys, winks and whimsso much happiness

There are a few strange souls in the world that don’t write things down, anywhere, ever. When I hear this, I don’t know whether to stop what I’m doing and bow down because their mental capacity is ridiculously impressive, or to run because they’re quasi-robots.

So yeah, I get a little dumbfounded either way. This is because I depend on writing my life down. Otherwise, you can consider that appointment, test, meeting, hangout, you name it, gone. Gone into the abyss that is my daytimer-dependant brain, not even with a dramatic poof of smoke.

I enjoy my dependence on daytimers though because, goddamn, I love them. I could spend hours in stationery stores and probably get the same amount of relaxation as a couple hours spent at some fancy spa.*

Something about having your life transcend its pages is so inherently soothing. It’s like all the pages ahead offer a sneak peak into what the next few weeks or months hold for you, which I get is completely ironic because there’s nothing surprising about something you’ve scheduled in yourself, but it feels that way.

And just like clothing, each daytimer brings on a different vibe. I recently purchased a daytimer that makes me feel as though I am an elvish empress, and each test deadline now appears like a mysterious quest (okay, not really, but whenever I open it, I do fully expect to see, “Journey to Alzareth,” and “Meditation at Moon Kiss Point”).

Now, in my opinion, the only place (ar at least the first place) you gotta go to get your daytimer game on point is Anthropologie. Above are a few of my favorites, especially the Every Moment journal – a poignant reminder that while life can be chaotic, there are so many moments to savor in between. And to never forget that you can create moments to savor, too.

The following paintings have stayed on file for a while now (months even) because I haven’t been able to articulate how I feel about them. Are they worth posting? Will anyone resonate with what I’m saying? Is this just a “fluff” post? When it comes to this blog of mine, there are hoards upon hoards of drafted posts gathering virtual dust for exactly those reasons. But sometimes I need to ask, and we all need to ask, what’s stopping us?

As you can see from my sporadic posting, I tend to succumb to the voice in my head that challenges the value of my thoughts and ideas. In fact, he or she or it has become something of a jedi in wielding these powerful words of doubt against me – and not only in the sphere of blogging. Doubt can parade into every part of my life. Is this outfit too look-at-me? Did I just destroy that first impression? How can I even consider applying for this?

All of those questions, hesitations, and insecurities brought on by doubt means one thing: Doubt stops me in my tracks when I’m on the road to something good, to something happy and meaningful. And so I’ve come to realize that the grip of doubt on our confidence and happiness can be lethal.

Doubt, to me, is easier to face when it’s personified. Rather than looking at it as some intangible force that renders us weak and powerless from the inside out, as this seems virtually impossible to contest, try looking at it as something outside of yourself. Try looking at Doubt as the bully that picks on you when you’re being you. When you’re leaping into new ventures, finding happiness in the now, or sporting red lips to the grocery store – Doubt is the one who pulls you back, mid-air, from that euphoric mental jump you’re taking into new places.

As any bully then, Doubt grew up in an atmosphere of insecurity. It did not arise out of malice, but genuine fear and uneasiness about its value. So, as hard as it may be, give Doubt a hug. Stroke its frazzled hair and talk through its worries. Why, Doubt, do you not want to apply for this writing contest, or this internship? Because when you scream into my ear that I don’t have the slightest chance, or that this is a waste of time because there will inevitably be better writers, better applicants, and better people out there, I know you don’t really think these are valid reasons. I think you, and I, am worth it. I think that we can do this together. I just need your support.

Whenever I look Doubt in the eye, I can see that my worries are its fears. It’s fascinating, really, to look inward and see the multiple relationships we have with ourselves alone. It’s incredibly valuable, albeit difficult, to challenge the more painful relationships. I often tiptoe around them, not wanting to confront where they have come from, but as soon as I sit with them, I feel my ambitions and confidence returning.

I need to remind myself to practice looking inwards daily. My life right now is made up of so many if’s, how’s, maybe’s that I could burst from uncertainty. It’s as though I’m losing myself a little bit the more I let Doubt take over me. Who knows – maybe if I don’t confront Doubt, I will become Doubt. On the contrary, however, if I let confidence back in the picture, I can return to the self I find pride in. I like that self.

So where do you stand on Doubt? What is its role in your life and how do you cope?

***

In full circle, here are the paintings that I didn’t think anyone else would find interesting/cool/neat/groovy/awesome. But you know what? I think that was Doubt speaking.

Kim McCarty’s Boys & Girls

Like blurry afterimages drifting past closed eyelids, Kim McCarty’s watercolors hover between presence and absence, innocence and wisdom, and past, present, and future. Working rapidly, at times using only a single color and at others a haunting, bruise-inspired palette of acid yellows, greens, and browns, McCarty’s portraits evoke the sense of uncertainty, ambivalence, anxiety, and loss with which we view today’s generation. – Maloney Fine Arts

We see a lot on the internet. Some, rightfully so, may say too much. But true and complete genius strikes me still when I see it. Kim McCarty’s series, Boys & Girls, overwashed me with wonder.

First, I felt a sense of loss. Heartbreaking loss. The blurred colors almost look like the product of tears watering them down. Then, I saw passion. That same use of blurred reds, pinks, and peaches in the woman leaning forward looks to me like a body that is radiating warmth after making love. The woman approaching us, whose naked body is a myriad of greens, yellows, blues evokes a similar sense of earthy sensuality rather than explicit sexuality.

When I consider the title, my perspective changes. The fused colors don’t necessarily represent sorrow but merely an unformed impression of the world around us. Adolescence and childhood is a time of absorbing what’s around you. We are unsure as to who we are, filling in the lines of our dreams and personality as we age. Perhaps the edges become more defined with age and perhaps they don’t. Perhaps we don’t even want them to.

So, there you have it. The thoughts, short & sweet, that sat on the shelf of half-written blog posts for months on end. Now, I could write more, but there’s something satisfying about showing the thoughts in their unedited form – the form I had doubted for so long – presented as is. As is. Hold my hand, Doubt, we’re getting better at this.

Everybody has that friend who defies all previously held notions of “effortlessly cool.” You know, the one who wakes up in the morning, picks out any of the perfectly classic numbers hanging in her closet and spends a little under five minutes preparing her face for the world. Everything just clicks. They just seem to get things. For me, that friend is Adrienne, the bold-browed beauty smiling coyly below. We’ve been best friends going on a decade, which is half of my life thus far (winning at friendship, to put it bluntly), and she only embodies this stereotype more and more with each year. Should I be resentful? Hell, no, because she imparts her wisdom and unbridled inspiration on me every time I see her. This past weekend, though, my whole idea of my best friend just catapulted out of an ornate ceiling with stringed lights draped from an archway. In short, I visited her house and quickly died, went to the heaven reserved for vintage wares, crisp white walls, fireplaces-in-bedrooms, and historic architecture, and then came back to go for waffles. Her apartment almost brought tears to my eyes. So what kind of girl would I be if I didn’t share with you a home so perfect that I almost cried? Not an effortlessly cool one, let’s say that.

An Etsy find from her sister, this clock was made out of recycled wood that has been stained and repurposed. This piece singlehandedly defines the room’s vibe for me. Hung just above a perfectly proper fireplace, Adrienne’s aesthetic of funky vibes mingling with opulence is the perfect greeting into her home.On asking why she chooses to have her (sweet n’ stylish) clothes on display: “It was originally something I bought out of necessity, but I ended up loving the way it brought colour and texture to the space; so much of what I gravitate toward is grey and boring, so having it all exposed forces me to have a little life in my room. It also makes what I own so visible – not just in the literal way – it makes me realize how much I have. It’s terrible how easily I can get caught up in feeling like I need to have new and trendy things (boo consumerism), but having it all on display is such a strong reminder not to be wasteful.”On what her favourite part of her room is: “I think my favourite part has to be the archway. As much as arches typically add ornate detail to a room, this one is actually pretty tacky and silly, and I love it. The original wood design was apparently so delicate that it just sort of fell apart with age, so the details were all redone in the 80s – hence the weird and silly retro spheres..”Galleries are so daunting to me, I don’t know why, mostly because I’m under the impression that you need real ART. Adrienne scored some vintage frames and record covers and suddenly I am rethinking my whole conception of what makes a “good” gallery. Personally, bringing in a level of intimacy and personality by displaying bits and pieces of your life – be it photos or album covers you’ve always had lying around – is much more interesting.“The vast majority of the items in the room are actually heirlooms and trinkets from the Granny, who passed away a few years ago. She was an incredible world traveller and collected a huge array of unique items over the years. When she died, she left all of them to my sister and I. We were all very close,and used to go over to her apartment and play dress-up with all of her costume jewels, or have fake tea parties with her ridiculously fancy silver and crystal tea sets (which I’m still not sure why she ever let us touch).”“The pearls, the tray, the lantern, and nearly all of the little things on the shelves belonged to her. I love having them around. It’s really comforting to come home and see little reminders of people you loved, especially in your own room. It really makes it feel like a sanctuary.”

Thank you, Adrienne, for letting me share your beautiful home with the world! It’s almost as cool as you are. (Yay, cheese!) Signing off, *m